


but you saw no fault (no cracks in my heart)

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Spoilers, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: In the darkness of his cell, Daryl is confronted by his demons. Spoilers for 7x03.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from _Ghosts That We Knew_ by Mumford and Sons.

_so give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_

_cause oh that gave me such a fright_

_but I will hold on with all of my might_

_just promise me we'll be all right_

 

ghosts that we knew, mumford and sons

 

Darkness. That's all he can see. A sliver of lights crawls into the room from the crack beneath the door, barely enough for him to make out the shape of his own hand.

 

Cold. It seeps under his skin and settles in the marrow of his bones, his naked body absorbing it like poison. Sweat pearls on his forehead, limbs trembling with the effort of it all - breathing, pumping blood through his unwilling veins.

 

Pain. It's ever present. Throbbing around the two holes torn into him by the bullet. It thunders in his head, strings itself through the sinews and muscles of his legs. He can't will it away, is grateful for it.

 

It numbs him.

 

His cheek presses to the rough concrete, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. The taste of his last meal mingles with that of blood, his eyes watering as his throat constricts around it all in nausea.

 

Breathing heavily, he stares into the nothingness before him.

 

Suddenly, the music cuts off mid-song, the silence that follows it overwhelming. Listening to the slow drumming of his heart and his own shuddering breaths, he waits. Waits for sleep to claim him.

 

It takes but a few seconds before his eyes flutter shut, a new kind of darkness welcoming him. Embracing him.

 

Then, suddenly, a soft voice.

 

_Oh, my sweet boy._

 

He gasps at the sound of it, raspy and melodic, eyes opening wide. Where there was darkness before, light shimmers now, a warm glow like that of a firelight. And there, right in the middle of it, she kneels.

 

Long, dark hair, a few strands tucked behind her ear. Skin pale, dark circles under her pretty blue eyes - _his_ eyes. Thin arms are covered in bruises as if someone took a brush and used her as his canvas. _My sweet, sweet boy._

 

She sighs, and it's marvelous how she looks just like the last time he remembers her. How he'd last seen her that day before he took off to spend the day outside in the summer sun. She'd smiled softly at him, her lips stained with red wine. When he returned, nothing was left of her.

 

With a trembling hand he reaches out to her. She can't be real. Not when all that was left of her were ashes and memories blurred by the passage of time. He can smell it in the air, the proof that she is gone. Instead of her cheap perfume the stench of charred flesh fills his nostrils. Strands of her hair glow as if somebody scattered embers into them. And her silk nightgown is singed at the hemline - it couldn't have been real silk, but God had it been soft when she took his head into her lap and ran her fingers through his hair.

 

_Sweetheart, look what they've all done to you,_ she whispers, her hand passing his and instead brushing sweaty strands of hair off his forehead. Her skin feels cool and scorching all the same.

 

_Ain't nothin sweet 'bout him. Never was._ The voice is gruff, deep, gravelly from decades of cigarettes and strong liquor.

 

His mother tenses, retracting her hand. Over her shoulder, a man appears, half-bathed in shadow. His beard grimy, eyes nearly lost in his skull. The stench of alcohol takes over and Daryl can almost taste it on his chapped lips. There's a temptation to it now that he can't deny.

 

_He's weak, 's all he is._ One push of a large hand and his mother scurries away like a skittish animal.

 

_No,_ he croaks, reaching out his hand once more. _Mom._

 

_Ya hear yourself?_ his father scoffs, his hand curling around his throat. _Pathetic._ Fingers squeeze, squeeze, squeeze in a bruising grasp, and Daryl desperately tries to suck some air into his lungs. _Get off ya skinny ass and stand like a man._ He's dragged then, up by the arms and his shoulder screams in protest. The soles of his bare feet drag against the concrete but his knees buckle under his weight.

 

With an all too familiar laughter, the old bastard drops him. Shakes his head as his kneecaps meet the floor unprotected. Delicate sobs tear through the quiet, his mother's fragile body trembling as she look away.

 

_Still that same weak little boy. Got no balls._

 

Daryl searches for his own voice, still feels the phantom pain of his father's bruising grasp. _Go away._

 

_What?_

 

A shuddering breath. _Go away._

 

The old man's eyes widen a little. _Well, did ya hear that, darling? Your sweet, useless brat told me to go away._ Kneeling down in front of him, Daryl can see the yellow of his teeth. _Listen ta me. I ain't ever gone._ A slap across his cheek, the skin red and raw after.

 

_He ain't wrong, little brother._ Merle's voice echoes in the room when he steps out of the shadow, crimson staining his white shirt. _He's always with us._

 

No. No, no no. Squeezing his eyes shut, Daryl tries to get rid off them all, wants to wipe them away and be left alone. But then a hand rests on his shoulder.

 

_Got the Chinese kid killed, huh?_ He laughs like it's a joke, like it doesn't matter shit.

 

_Shut up,_ he pleads. Voice breaking. He can see it in the darkness, Glenn's twitching body. Hears the gurgle of blood as he tried to speak. _Shut up._

 

_There ain't no point in all this,_ Merle explains, sinking down onto the ground and leaning against the wall, two good hands cupping his shins. _Ain’t gotta pretend to be all high 'n mighty, little brother. What'ya think is gonna happen if ya get outta here? Think those people will welcome ya back with open arms after what'ya did? They won't. Gonna see ya for what'ya really are._

 

He tries not to listen, begs silently for the damn song to play again. Anything to stop this.

 

_Maybe ya fooled them for a while,_ Merle continues, and from the corner of his eyes Daryl can see the blood coating his brother's lips, staining them dark red. _But now they're gonna see ya for what'ya really are. A piece o' shit just like ya big brother._

 

Daryl wants to shake his head and tell him no. That he's different. Better. That he's not the little kid cowering in a closet anymore as his dad beat his mom bloody. But then he takes in the cell around him. Dark but for the glow his crying mother casts.

 

He's still that kid. He's always going to be that kid.

 

_Don't fight 'em, little brother._ Another clap on his bare shoulder, but he feels no reassurance. _Officer Friendly won't want'ya back. None of them will. Ya failed them. Couldn't save that girl neither, the one in the woods._

 

Tears prickle in his eyes now, merciless. But he blinks them away, can hear his father's scoff. He won't let them see.

 

_Looked for her,_ he rasps, struggling to form the words. _I tried. Couldn't-_

 

_You couldn't have saved me._

 

The voice sound far, far away. An echo that sends chills down his spine. He searches for her in the dark corner of his cell, frantic to catch a glimpse. To be sure. But she is hidden in the shadow that claims her.

 

_You looked for me,_ the little girl whispers through a smile he can hear without seeing. Then, slowly, she steps forward. It's cautious and shy and her face remains hidden, but he can see the doll clutched in her hands and a rainbow glows in the dark as if it was bursting from her chest.

 

_Sophia,_ he chokes, willing away the memories of her, dead on the ground. Carol crumbling in his arms under the weight of all the promises he made that were broken and all the false hope he'd foolishly given her.

 

_It wasn't your fault,_ she says.

 

_It wasn't your fault._ The new voice startles him, still so familiar.

 

He is kneeling right in front of him, blood trailing from his forehead over his otherwise unscathed face. A smile curls his lips, gentle as always.

 

_Was my fault,_ Daryl chokes, shaking his head violently now. _Should've kept quiet. I should've-_

 

_Daryl,_ Glenn interrupts him, still smiling. Why is he always smiling? Even now, when there's nothing left in the damn world to smile about. _It's not on you._

 

_Should've known._ He taste his own blood on his lips, blinks away more tears and still his vision is obscured by the strands of his hair.

 

_You did know. But what did you think would happen? That he'd kill me?_

 

It's getting darker now, his mother's light slowly fading. He longs to look at her, just one more time. But he stares down at his bare body instead, littered in scars and covered in filth and blood.

 

_Thought he'd kill_ me _._

 

The words taste like ash, and the smile on Glenn's face fades. Still, he nods. Knowing.

 

_There. Not on you._

 

He wants to argue that he's wrong. That he's dead because he's just what Merle said. A piece of shit. But Glenn rises and steps away into the shadows, still there.

 

_Leave me._ It's a desperate plea and he can't hold himself up anymore, sinks back down to the ground until his cheek kisses the concrete. _Just leave me be._

 

_we're on easy street, and it feels so sweet._ The now all too familiar words, words that have branded themselves into his brain, filter softly through the cell. Nothing accompanies them, no instruments, no clapping. They are quiet, and sound all too different. Gentle, almost. He recognizes the voice, although he can no see its origin in the shadows. _cause the world is 'bout a treat. when you're on easy street._

 

It doesn't sound so bad, anymore.

 

_Couldn't save her, neither, could'ya?_ Merle asks, a grin on his face that looks like a mask. Slowly, his skin seems to be melting away like wax.

 

_Or her._ His old man kneels down in front of him, dangles a key chain in front of his face. Back and forth, back and forth. Dennis... Denise. _Failed them all._

 

_it's our moment in the sun, and it's only just begun_

 

_Let me go,_ he whispers weakly, closing his eyes with one last glimpse of his mother, crouched in a corner with her hair draped over her shoulders, the tear trails on her face blazing with fire. _Let me go._

 

_You have to let them go._

 

No, no, no. The new voice sounds sharpest, the most familiar. His heart instantly picks up speed, as if it just remembered that he's still alive. In that same instant, panic rushes through his veins. He keeps his eyes closed, can't bear to look at her know - not when everyone else...

 

_You have to let them go, Daryl._

 

Her smell is all around him, ever-present. Fresh and crisp, like the woods on a spring morning or clean sheets ruffled around freshly scrubbed skin. Like flowers blooming by a lake and old wood that creaks and moans under the weight of the sun.

 

A warm, soft hand finds his, her fingers slipping easily in between. More than anything, he wants to grasp her hand as tight as he can, but his fingers are too stiff, and he is too tired to move. And she shouldn't be here, not here, not amongst all of _them_.

 

_Let go._

 

Slowly, held back by fear, he opens his eyes. She is right there, kneeling above him. Silver hair spiked and glimmering like stars, her freckled cheeks tinted with a rosy glow, lips curled into a rare, genuine smile.

 

_Can't let ya go,_ he breathes, weakly brushing his thumb against the back of her hand.

 

She shakes her head so slowly that he almost misses it. _Not me,_ she whispers. _Them. Let them all go._

 

_Not you?_

 

With a sweet sigh, she lies down on the ground beside him, her body lithe as it moves. He wants to tell her no, to stay away from the cold, hash ground. But the promise of her so close is too tempting to resist. _Not me_ , she reassures him, her face so close that her warm breath dampens his cheeks. _I'm still here._

 

He nods, sucking in a shuddering breath. She is here. The blue of her eyes sparkles, her fingers trace along his palm and all the while the singing in the shadows fades. The stench of alcohol and scorched flesh simmers down. And when he looks behind her, they are all beginning to turn into shadows.

 

_Ya little girl._ His breath hitches as he rushes through the words. But Carol only shakes her head, shifts until her body presses into his side. He should be ashamed to be this exposed, but her eyes never leave his.

 

_Not yet,_ she whispers, and her lips are so close to his, so very close that he knows he could find the strength to breach the distance and kiss her. Even just here in the shadows he knows it would ease some of his pain. But he can't. He won't. Not here and not now. _It's not time, yet,_ Carol continues, reaching out with her free hand to rest it against his cheek. _It's not my time. And it isn't yours._

 

_'s all my fault,_ he confesses, voice breaking apart like a bone turning into dust. Delicate fingers find his lips, trace over chapped skin.

 

She sighs. _It's not your time yet. You're still here._ Her eyes suddenly widen a little when something seems to dawn on her, just for a brief second. But even as she tries to remain calm, he can feel it. The grasp of her hand loosening. Then, slowly, she, too begins to melt away.

 

_Hold on,_ she murmurs, her nose nudging his. _We're still here. Don't forget._

 

He grasps her hand now, driven by the sheer need to not let her fade away. But her skin is turning white as a sheet, the shimmer of her hair flickering like a dying fire. She's almost gone. _Carol-_ he pleads, her name passing his lips as no more than a whimper. _Stay._

 

She's almost gone, darkness taking her place.

 

_Remember,_ her voice echoes in the small space, sounding far, far away. Remember what? he wants to ask her that, wants to tell her so much. But then nothing but her voice and the echo of her touch remain. _Find me._

 

In the darkness, he looks for her. But he can't find her there.

 

 

 

When the music blares through the small space again and he violently jolts awake, he is on the ground still, eyes watering quickly when the cell door is pushed open.

 

He welcomes it. The stabbing flash of light. The taste of his meal. The pain of dragging himself up. He deserves it all and more. But somewhere in the back of his head, he hears a small voice. Frail. Wanting to be heard, but already forgotten.

 

_Remember._

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, I am still on a writing break this month. But I just felt really horrible after this episode, and I needed to write this to deal with my feelings.
> 
> Back to my break now.


End file.
